Nightmares
by 8R0K3N-C4P70R5
Summary: Just some drabbles about what the worst nighmares of the Homestuck characters could be.
1. The Psiioniic's Nightmare

**Hello everybody! After getting a couple of asks on Tumblr in regards to a prompt I reblogged I decided to publish my responses here because I was so darn proud of how they turned out. I may add more chapters for more characters in the future so if you have a request for this series then drop me an ask at 8r0k3n-c4p70r5 on Tumblr. Enjoy the feels drabbles and if you like it please leave a review!**

He could still feel them, the biocables that he had been connected to for several millennia, as they bore their way into his flesh and integrated themselves with his nervous system. He could still feel the burning pain of the data ports that imbedded themselves along either side of his spine, pierced his sides and the one that punctured the back of his neck right at the base of his skull. He could also hear himself screaming, agonising, defiant cries of protest as they 'installed' him and made him one with the ship. He remembered putting up a fight, determined not to submit to his inevitable fate willingly.

A battery, that's all he was now to those who did this to him, nothing more than an expendable tool to be used and tortured at their will. The worst part was when he was connected with the ship's systems, numbers, charts, communiqués and all other manner of data bombarded his thinkpan to the point it felt like it would explode from the strain. It eventually settled of course and he was able to make sense of everything, the process of dealing with so much data becoming as natural as breathing. He had become a permanent part of the ship, no, he had become the ship itself. He was able to see and hear everything that was going on all at the same time, able to access any and every possible system and data base held within the hull. He had become the engine, the hard drive…the weapons…

He could recall every world he had helped conquer, every planet that he had helped to destroy, and he could still hear the screams of the innocent inhabitants of those worlds. Time inevitably took it's toll on him and he was reduced to nothing more than a mere shell of his former self. His thinkpan had become so warped that he would regularly scream, cry, mutter incoherently and even sing for hours or sometimes even days on end and it was only when Her Royal Condescension grew sick of the uproar and gave him a sharp slap to the face that he would stop and resort to apologising pathetically over and over again until she was satisfied enough and once again left him alone with his thoughts.

For hundreds and thousands of sweeps he was forced to comply to her every order, to endure her every whim without protest or a chance to give his consent. At times he felt like a toy, a plaything for her to amuse herself with whenever she pleased. He often considered her a little needy, desperate even for some sort of connection with another that she apparently couldn't find anywhere else. On a good day she would simply talk to him, thankfully not really expecting him to respond in any way. But on a bad day she would take her frustrations out on him, both physically and mentally depending on the mood she was actually in. On rare occasion he was cognitively capable of making some sort of snide comment or clever comeback and this sometimes amused the Empress, though most of the time it earned him another punishment.

As quickly as his servitude had seemed to begin it had ended in a single moment, a moment that his damaged thinkpan simply registered as a flash.

It was at this point that he would usually wake up screaming, the memories mentally scarring him all over again. The pain was still real, the many scars that covered his body still burned and the streams of data still haunted him, sometimes for days after the nightmare itself had ended. He had begun to believe that he would never truly be free of his prison, though he may have been physically his mind was still trapped there in the hell he had suffered.

Perhaps, given time, he would be granted some escape from the mental turmoil and find peace…or perhaps he was doomed to relive the horror of it for the rest of his existence…


	2. Mituna's Nightmare

They wouldn't listen, no matter how much you begged and pleaded with them they just wouldn't listen to you. What the fuck was the point of being the 'Heir of Doom' if, when you did indeed see doom coming, nobody took you seriously? Even Latula, the one person you loved and trusted more than anyone had told you that you were just being silly and not to worry about it. The fact was you did worry, you worried so much it made you physically sick.

You had to do something though, you couldn't just ignore it and hope that it would all go away because you knew it wouldn't. When you made the decision to act you didn't tell anyone, you didn't want them to risk their own safety for your sorry ass. You snuck away and instantly felt a pang of guilt in your gut, though you kept going because you knew you no longer had time to brood over it.

You had never been entirely sure what happened that day, your first memory after your 'accident' being a blinding pain that threatened to split your skull in half. You remember someone picking you up from where you had fallen and gently trying to wipe away the blood that trickled from your nose, mouth, ears and even your eyes, holding you while you screamed in agony and begged for them to make the pain stop, to end your misery right there and then. But they didn't. They refused and instead you had to suffer while they took you back and tried to nurse you back to health.

As it turned out your efforts, despite you apparently being successful, were all for nothing as Meenah had taken it upon herself to blow you all up anyway. Sure you had all 'survived' so you could continue your 'lives' in the Furthest Ring rather than being wiped out completely when the Scratch reset everything, but at times it didn't feel like it had been worth the effort.

You weren't yourself anymore, not that you could remember how you were before you completely fried your thinkpan. Whatever you had done to save everybody had burned your psiioniics out and caused permanent, irreversible damage to your brain. You tend to alternate between being in an aggressive and abrasive mood, that makes you come across as extremely obnoxious, or a meek, passive mood that makes you apologise for every little thing you do and say. You can't stand being touched by anyone who isn't your matesprit or moirail and if anyone dares to try you completely freak out and won't calm down until they've let go and moved away from you.

You do occasionally have times where you are lucid and coherent, to the point you can even use your psiioniics again, and you treasure these moments while they last, though on a bad day you can be switching between moods as often as every few seconds which leaves you an emotional wreck. Latula is the one fixed point in all the chaos, having stuck by you even through your outbursts and emotional fits. You can tell it's a strain on her and that you can be quite a handful but you can also see just how much she truly cares, and that means the world to you.

Sometimes, when you're able to think coherently, you find yourself wishing you could go back and change everything so maybe you wouldn't be the way you are now, so Latula wouldn't have to go through watching you struggle to do the simplest of tasks that used to be so easy. You wish your burn out had killed you, as harsh and selfish as the thought was you feel you would have been better off being put you out of your misery right there and then. You wish you didn't have the scars on your forehead and around your eyes as a permanent reminder of everything you'd lost that day.

Sure you still had your loving matesprit and the world's best moirail but you had lost yourself, and if you weren't yourself anymore…

…then who were you?

Your name is Mituna Captor…and you're broken.


End file.
